Sentimental Value
by The Crow and the Butterfly
Summary: He turned the glove over in his hands, squinting at something he'd written on the back years ago. "Wow…" he repeated with a laugh. "Wow." For foxtrotelly. T/M, one-shot.


An old idea published because I didn't want to write a Yuri/Sakurano with clam chowder and frozen yogurt. Yes, I'm that lame. But I might get around to it, someday...

Dedicated to foxtrotelly, who rocks my world.

* * *

There's somewhat of a tragedy about being young. You outgrow things: Clothes, haircuts, pastimes, friends, ideas, sometimes even whole personalities. As much as childhood can seem like it lasts forever, this reminds us of the true impermanence.

When Tsubasa turned seven, his sometimes-friend Misaki gave him a baseball glove. A proper one. It was absolutely excellent. It was made of tawny leather with matching laces and fit like it was made for his hand.

In retrospect, it hadn't been all that personal of a gift. Just the kind of thing you'd get a little boy. But it had seemed at the time like she'd known exactly what he wanted even when he wasn't sure himself. Tsubasa wouldn't admit it out loud, but he loved the thing to pieces.

They would go to the field that whoever took care of the grounds always neglected to mow behind the senior dorms and play catch until it got dark. He would talk to her, sometimes. But sometimes they'd just stand in silence and throw a ball back and forth with a steady _thwack-thwack-thwack_ heartbeat rhythm. Misaki would see him sometimes from her seat near the window when he'd skip class and lay out in the grass and lazily toss a ball to himself. Sometimes she could hear it _thwack_-ing into his palm and it would make her smile.

After a year or so, the glove would have to stretch to even fit on his hand anymore. It had been worn out, scribbled on, the stitching had been ripped in a tree-climbing incident, and one day in a hurry he left it in the Special Abilities classroom and never saw it again.

He missed it for a while, but eventually forgot all about the thing. That's the worse part about the process of outgrowing: Forgetting how much you loved what you've outgrown.

X

The package was oddly shaped and wrapped in several sheets of tissue paper. He was curious. Alright, he was always curious to see what Misaki got him. She was good at this sort of thing. But usually there was some sort of a box he could shake, or something.

They were sitting cross-legged on Tsubasa's bed. There had been a party that Mikan had taken it upon herself to throw with all her friends, But afterwards Misaki had followed him back with her tissue-paper present. He'd spun a list of possible gifts that might require privacy, but none of them seemed very likely at all.

He ripped off the paper layer by layer and his eyes widened at the thing he was holding. "Wow…" he murmured quietly, stroking the worn leather. "Where'd you find this?"

"It was under a whole bunch of papers and stuff in one of the bookshelves." Misaki explained. "I found it when we were cleaning and just held onto it until now." She bit her lip, looking up at him. "Did I do good?"

Tsubasa didn't answer right away. Instead, he turned the glove over in his hands, squinting at something he'd written on the back years ago. "Wow…" he repeated with a laugh. "Wow."

She looked a little concerned. "Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. But there's one thing." He held up his old glove. "This is re-gifting. Major. You're giving me the same thing—the same exact thing—that you gave me ten years ago. And I know this was only worth like, 500 yen."

"No, re-gifting would be if you gave it to someone else," Misaki argued. "This is… This is sentimental value. And it cost more than that, anyways."

After a few moments of hesitation, he began to laugh.

"What?" she demanded indignantly. "You liked it ten seconds ago!"

Still grinning, Tsubasa pulled her into a hug. "Have I ever told you how awesome you are?"

"I could stand to hear it more often," she replied crossly, puffing at a few strands of his hair that tickled her nose. "Oh, I almost forgot." Misaki disentangled herself from him, reaching for her bag and pulling out a scuffed baseball. "How about a game of catch. For old time's sake."

He put the glove to his hand, and his fingers stretched past the tips of it. "Doesn't fit, remember?"

"Oh, you don't need that to catch a ball, do you?" she pointed out, tossing him her baseball across the bed. He caught it easily and threw it to himself a couple times.

"Yeah, come to think of it, what am I supposed to use it for?"

"Beats me." Misaki shrugged after a few moment's thinking. "Hang it on the wall or something. Frame it. Give it to your kids."

Tsubasa pitched the ball back. "So, it's mostly useless then."

"Oh, shut up," she huffed. "It's sentimental."

He turned his old glove over in his hands again, running a finger over a tiny heart inked in the palm. "Whatever you say."

* * *

More mostly pointless fluffiness. Wahoo.

Review?


End file.
